


My Sunshine

by i_am_greg_lestrade



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, You Are My Sunshine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:42:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1666796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_greg_lestrade/pseuds/i_am_greg_lestrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Lestrade are on a mission together, Mycroft's first since his days in MI6, when something goes terribly wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Negative Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so you know the song "You Are My Sunshine?"  
> Good.  
> Remember that.  
> Sing it to yourself a few times.  
> You have the melody in your head? Awesome.  
> Read on.~

Recently, Greg had taken to singing and humming around the house while cleaning or cooking or just laying about. Mycroft, at first, found it a tad annoying, but he soon felt that it was endearing, especially the song choices. ‘A Thousand Years’, ‘Love Me Tender’, and when he was feeling upbeat, ‘Play That Funky Music’.

Another was ‘You are my Sunshine’. He only sang it when he and Mycroft were snuggling near the fire or in the mornings to wake the younger man up. Greg’s mother had sung that one to him when he was a child, before she had fallen ill. Greg remembers it fondly and loves to sing it to his _own_ sunshine.

“I am starting to enjoy that song,” Mycroft said one night, as the two of them read in the sitting room. Greg had been purring the melody for ten or so minutes, just to fill the silence.

Greg glanced up from the book in his hand, over the rims of his reading glasses. “Hm, you are?”

“Of course. Your voice is wonderful.”

Raising his eyebrows, Greg flushed. “Nah. I just like singin’.”

Mycroft chuckled softly. “I would hope so. You do it oh so often.”

“Mhm.” Greg smiled contentedly and went back to softy singing, his voice a low rumble. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. So please don’t take my sunshine away.”

Mycroft hummed along, his lighter tenor complimenting Greg’s baritone.

\---- _FOUR MONTHS LATER_ \----

“GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!” Greg pointed his gun at the murderer that they had finally been able to track down after months of work.

Mycroft had enlisted him and his department at the New Scotland Yard to track down a murder ring, the head of which was suspected in at least 12 homicide investigations. All of their work led to this, the infiltration of the killer’s den, a warehouse, disguised as a sweets storage facility.

The burly suspect turned and glowered at Greg, his yellowy teeth glinting in the dull light that filtered in from the grimy windows. The husky man then pointed his M-16 at the DI and opened fire. Greg dived out of the way, ducking behind a tall crate. He heard Mycroft’s voice in his ear.

“What is his position?” Mycroft had come on this mission. He was a highly trained sharp-shooter, specializing in long range marksmanship, rivaled only by world-class assassin (one that can always worm his way out of any charges brought against him), Sebastian Moran.

It was a well-kept secret of Mycroft’s, his skill with a firearm, but he had lent his expertise to the team only this once. He was on the top of an adjacent building, set up in his predetermined nest. He could see through some of the windows but not enough.

“40 meters ahead,” Greg whispered, knowing the mic at his throat would pick it up. He glanced over at the other members of his team, made mostly of trained CO19 officers. They were positioned as to surround the suspect, but they had been unable to get around to his other side and surround him fully. He spoke softly to the head of the CO19 unit. “Officer Keller, are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“On your count, then. He’s gonna try to run.”

“Use lethal force?”

Greg thought about it a moment then sighed. “Only if necessary. I want him alive but if we can’t get him that way, at least he’ll be off the streets.”

Officer Keller nodded. “Understood.” Then, to his men, “On my signal, my squad will go straight on. Mallick, you and yours flank left. Lestrade, your crew flanks to the right.”

Confirmations were whispered and positions were taken.

“Watch the exits, Myc.”

“Covered.”

Keller counted to three silently, holding up his fingers in the air for everyone to see. Then they jumped to action. Greg and his squad crept behind the crates to the right of the last known position of the suspect. Gunfire sounded from the center and the sound of a body hitting the ground echoed.

“Man down!” Keller yelled in their earpieces.

Greg signaled his crew to go center and aid Keller’s while he continued forward. He came to a clear isle just as the killer was running past, towards the door to Greg’s right. The big man busting out the doors, Greg close behind, their feet crunching on the gravel as they ran.

“I have a shot, but not for long,” Mycroft stated in his ear.

“Hold your fi-” Greg started, but was interrupted by a piercing pain in his chest. The gunman had twisted his arm around and fired at Greg, the bullets ripping straight through his jacket and the Kevlar beneath. Blood seeped through and stained the front of his work shirt.

‘Sharpened tips,’ Greg thought as he stumbled to a stop. ‘Must have been sharpened…’

“Gregory?” Mycroft’s tone was inquisitive. He hadn’t seen the gunman shoot but he had heard it. The man sprinted out of the blind spot, Greg stumbling behind before stopping.

“T-take the shot, Myc.”

“Are you sur-” he started to ask, but saw Greg crumple to the ground. His eyes widened but he swiveled himself and took one steady breath before ending the life of the shooter with one bullet through the head. Mycroft didn’t stay on his perch long enough to watch the man fall. He was sliding down the ladder on the side of the building. He reached the ground just as Keller and his men came out of the door, 30 meters away.

Skidding to a stop, Mycroft hurriedly flipped Greg over, the older man gasping in pain. “Gregory! Gregory, look at me. Please.”

Greg’s eyes found Mycroft’s and he smiled. “Nice shot, sniper.”

Mycroft’s brow furrowed as he gathered Greg into his arms, lifting the man’s torso from the rough gravel. Greg coughed and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, a solitary tear of crimson on his olive skin.

Greg glanced down at his shirt, now soaked in red. His breathing started to hitch and came in wheezes, but he just blinked, looking back to Mycroft. “Hey, now, I-I’ll be ok-okay,” he stammered a slight grin still on his lips.

“Oh, Gregory…”

Mycroft heard a soft sound coming from the man in his arms. The familiar tune was caught immediately and caused Mycroft’s eyes to well with tears. He lowered his ear to Greg’s mouth as the DI started to sing.

“You a-are my s-s-sunshine… m-my only s-sunsh-sh-shine…” He coughed up more blood, the bullets obviously having torn into his lung and lodged there. It would have been a through-and-through without the Kevlar. That probably would have been better. He may have had a chance.

Greg eyes had become less focused and his gasping became more and more of a gurgle, but he continued with his song. “Y-you make m-m-me h-happy, when sk-skies a-are gr-grey…” his chocolate brown eyes suddenly became clear and he turned his attention to Mycroft. He saw the tears on his younger partner’s face. “You’ll never kn-know, d-d-dear, h-h-how much I-I-I love y-y…” his voice faded as Greg’s last breath was taken. His body relaxed, vacant eyes staring at the sky past Mycroft’s head.

Mycroft let out a sob as his life crumpled around him. “But, please… don’t take my sunshine… away,” he whispered, pulling the lifeless form of Gregory Lestrade to his chest.

There, in the gravel, the eldest Holmes brother wept.


	2. Positive Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still have the melody in your mind?  
> Can you see through the blur of tears (my sincerest apologies, again)?  
> Brilliant.  
> Enjoy.~

Recently, Greg had taken to singing and humming around the house while cleaning or cooking or just laying about. Mycroft, at first, found it a tad annoying, but he soon felt that it was endearing, especially the song choices. ‘A Thousand Years’, ‘Love Me Tender’, and when he was feeling upbeat, ‘Play That Funky Music’.

Another was ‘You are my Sunshine’. He only sang it when he and Mycroft were snuggling near the fire or in the mornings to wake the younger man up. Greg’s mother had sung that one to him when he was a child, before she had fallen ill. Greg remembers it fondly and loves to sing it to his _own_ sunshine.

“I am starting to enjoy that song,” Mycroft said one night, as the two of them read in the sitting room. Greg had been purring the melody for ten or so minutes, just to fill the silence.

Greg glanced up from the book in his hand, over the rims of his reading glasses. “Hm, you are?”

“Of course. Your voice is wonderful.”

Raising his eyebrows, Greg flushed. “Nah. I just like singin’.”

Mycroft chuckled softly. “I would hope so. You do it oh so often.”

“Mhm.” Greg smiled contentedly and went back to softy singing, his voice a low rumble. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. So please don’t take my sunshine away.”

Mycroft hummed along, his lighter tenor complimenting Greg’s baritone.

\---- _FOUR MONTHS LATER_ \----

“GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!” Greg pointed his gun at the murderer that they had finally been able to track down after months of work.

Mycroft had enlisted him and his department at the New Scotland Yard to track down a murder ring, the head of which was suspected in at least 12 homicide investigations. All of their work led to this, the infiltration of the killer’s den, a warehouse, disguised as a sweets storage facility.

The burly suspect turned and glowered at Greg, his yellowy teeth glinting in the dull light that filtered in from the grimy windows. The husky man then pointed his M-16 at the DI and opened fire. Greg dived out of the way, ducking behind a tall crate. He heard Mycroft’s voice in his ear.

“What is his position?” Mycroft had come on this mission. He was a highly trained sharp-shooter, specializing in long range marksmanship, rivaled only by world-class assassin (one that can always worm his way out of any charges brought against him), Sebastian Moran.

It was a well-kept secret of Mycroft’s, his skill with a firearm, but he had lent his expertise to the team only this once. He was on the top of an adjacent building, set up in his predetermined nest. He could see through some of the windows but not enough.

“40 meters ahead,” Greg whispered, knowing the mic at his throat would pick it up. He glanced over at the other members of his team, made mostly of trained CO19 officers. They were positioned as to surround the suspect, but they had been unable to get around to his other side and surround him fully. He spoke softly to the head of the CO19 unit. “Officer Keller, are you ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“On your count, then. He’s gonna try to run.”

“Use lethal force?”

Greg thought about it a moment then sighed. “Only if necessary. I want him alive but if we can’t get him that way, at least he’ll be off the streets.”

Officer Keller nodded. “Understood.” Then, to his men, “On my signal, my squad will go straight on. Mallick, you and yours flank left. Lestrade, your crew flanks to the right.”

Confirmations were whispered and positions were taken.

“Watch the exits, Myc.”

“Covered.”

Keller counted to three silently, holding up his fingers in the air for everyone to see. Then they jumped to action. Greg and his squad crept behind the crates to the right of the last known position of the suspect. Gunfire sounded from the center and the sound of a body hitting the ground echoed.

“Man down!” Keller yelled in their earpieces.

Greg signaled his crew to go center and aid Keller’s while he continued forward. He came to a clear isle just as the killer was running past, towards the door to Greg’s right. The big man busting out the doors, Greg close behind, their feet crunching on the gravel as they ran.

“I have a shot, but not for long,” Mycroft stated in his ear.

“Hold your fi-” Greg started, but was interrupted by a piercing pain in his chest. The gunman had twisted his arm around and fired at Greg, the bullets ripping straight through his jacket and the Kevlar beneath. Blood seeped through and stained the front of his work shirt.

‘Sharpened tips,’ Greg thought as he stumbled to a stop. ‘Must have been sharpened…’

“Gregory?” Mycroft’s tone was inquisitive. He hadn’t seen the gunman shoot but he had heard it. The man sprinted out of the blind spot, Greg stumbling behind before stopping.

“T-take the shot, Myc.”

“Are you sur-” Mycroft started to ask, but saw Greg crumple to the ground. His eyes widened but he swiveled himself and took one steady breath before ending the life of the man who shot Greg with one bullet through the head. Mycroft didn’t stay on his perch long enough to watch the man fall. He was sliding down the ladder on the side of the building. He reached the ground just as Keller and his men came out of the door, 30 meters away.

Skidding to a stop, Mycroft hurriedly flipped Greg over, the older man gasping in pain. “Gregory! Gregory, look at me. Please.”

Greg’s eyes found Mycroft’s and he smiled. “Nice shot, sniper.”

Mycroft’s brow furrowed as he gathered Greg into his arms, lifting the man’s torso from the rough gravel. Greg coughed and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, a solitary tear of crimson on his olive skin.

Greg glanced down at his shirt, now soaked in red. His breathing started to hitch and came in wheezes, but he just blinked, looking back to Mycroft. “Hey, now, I-I’ll be ok-okay,” he stammered a slight grin still on his lips.

“Please, fight, Gregory,” Mycroft begged in a shaking voice. “You have to stay alive.”

“I’ll be f-fine, Myc,” Greg repeated. He looked at his chest again and fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. “T-take it o-off and st-stop the bleeding with i-it.”

Mycroft gently removed Greg’s shirt and the ruined Kevlar beneath. There were two holes in the right side of his chest, both bleeding profusely. Mycroft laid the vest under Greg’s now bare back and leaned him down. Greg was now gasping for air, his brown eyes wide. Shock was setting in. Mycroft balled up the once-white shirt and pressed his weight into it on Greg’s chest, causing Greg to cry out in pain. “I know, Gregory, just please hang on.”

Keller’s voice crackled in the head piece Mycroft’s ear. “Ambulances en route, sir!” He must have gone back inside to his own men.

“Tell them we need them post-haste,” Mycroft commanded, not taking his eyes off of Greg.

“Right away, sir.”

Greg’s eyes had started to close and his gasping became gurgled wheezing, hitching in his throat.

“No, Gregory, you will not die!” Greg’s eyes closed fully and his breathing stopped completely. Mycroft slapped Greg across the face, and yelled, “STAY WITH ME, GREGORY, THAT IS AN ORDER!” Greg’s eyes flared open again and focused on Mycroft. Sirens could be heard close by and the sound of tires on gravel echoed down the corridor. Mycroft looked up and saw uniformed men come out of the building waving out 2 paramedics from St. Bart’s.

“Keep pressure on it!” Mycroft yelled as they wheeled Greg way. He climbed back up to his sniper’s nest and gathered all of his gear. He tossed his gun and the stand in the backseat of his black car and then made for Bart’s, the blood of his partner still staining his hands as they clenched the wheel. _Don’t you dare die, Gregory_ , he prayed silently as he drove.

\--- --- --- --- ---

After they operated on Greg and got the bullets out, he was in a medically induced coma for a day. The bullets had pierced Greg’s lung and had gotten lodged there and the other had gotten stopped by a rib, breaking it into his lung. The doctors had been able to repair it quite well, fortunately.

Mycroft didn’t leave his side, not even to change out of his all-black attire from the night of the bust. Sherlock and John had been in right after it happened but Mycroft had ignored any questions. He just sat there and stared at the unconscious man on the white sheets..

Mycroft gripped Greg’s hand and rested his head on the older man’s forearm. His eyes drifted closed and he fell into a light sleep right there, with the man he loved. The man he saved.

A few hours later, Greg opened his eyes blearily. He looked around and was confused as to where he was at first, but then he remembered what happened and just relaxed. He was alive. He felt the pressure on his right arm and saw Mycroft, still asleep. He smiled at the younger man, feeling Mycroft’s fingers loosely laced through his. He squeezed his hand lightly but it was enough.

Mycroft’s head shot up and he turned to see that Greg was looking tiredly at him, raising the back of the mechanical bed up to sit upright. “Gre-” he was able to get out before a sob broke through his lips. He hadn’t allowed himself to feel anything, even as Greg had nearly bled out in his arms. But, now, seeing the love of his life awake and smiling at him…

Greg was instantly worried. “Hey, now, Myc…”

“You n-nearly died…” Mycroft said from behind his free hand. His other one still clung to Greg’s, squeezing the other man’s short fingers as reassurance that he was really there.

“But I didn’t,” Greg stated leaning slightly forward, groaning in pain. “You –ow- you saved me, Mycroft.” He clutched Mycroft’s hand reassuringly. “Thank you.”

Mycroft fixed Greg’s eyes with the cold blue of his own. His hand dropped from his face and he leaned up to touch his forehead to Greg’s knuckles, lifting them to meet him halfway. Greg released Mycroft’s hand and ran his fingers through Mycroft’s messy dark hair comfortingly. Mycroft hummed contentedly, his tuneless droning slowly gaining melody. Greg recognised it instantly and smiled broadly. He picked up the tune and hummed along in his deep baritone. Mycroft looked up at the sound and stopped, letting Greg go on. After a few more notes, he started singing.

“You are my sunshine,” he sang loudly, grunting a bit at the effort, then sniggering at himself. Gazing at his loving partner, Greg sang, “My only sunshine,” in a hushed, sweet tone, eyes soft. “You make me happy-” he murmured as he took Mycroft’s hand again, kissing the younger man’s index fingertip. “-when skies are grey.”

Mycroft, standing and leaning over Greg, finished the song. “You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.” He stroked the side of Greg’s face tenderly, tears welling in his eyes again. “So, please-” he leaned in closer, pressing his forehead to Greg’s. “-don’t take my sunshine-” he closed the distance between their lips with a tilt of his head. “-away,” Mycroft buzzed against Greg’s lips. Greg leaned into the kiss, ignoring the pain in his chest, relieved that he was alive. He felt the same thankfulness in Mycroft’s touch as he held Greg’s face to his.

Both were just so happy to have one another, nothing else in the world mattered right then. Just the two of them, alive and well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that a better conclusion?  
> Good.  
> Thank you for reading!  
> Cheers!!~

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies.


End file.
